Mother's Day

Two days ago was Mother's Day. That juggernaut of holidays which brings guilt to the all time Olympics. I have tried for many years to not guilt my children into this trap. Their father has usually reminded them subtly as he is apt to be. And they have favored me with lovely gifts and cards which I remember for years--I really mean that! I remember them for years.

There are two points to make about Mother's Day this time and I mean to make them here. First of all, I spoke with an old friend today. Neither of her sons acknowledged the day in any way shape or form. I wanted to knock their heads together and slap them silly. She is a lovely woman and responsible for much of their good lives as their jerk of a father was not around but chasing tail much of the time. I am appalled at their oversight and callousness. And if I could find a way to shame them publicly, don't you believe for a minute I wouldn't take the chance. She was deeply hurt and tried to make light of it, but I saw her eyes and into them was the pain of their neglect. I really want to do something to make up for that...but it is not my fight, damn it all.

The second thing I want to say about Mother's Day comes as a result of a comment posted by my older brother while discussing something entirely different. He asked if I ever watched my son play Ocarina of Time, one of the Zelda games. I still smile when I think of those games and the intricate and amazing stories they told as they strove to get "Link" to rescue Princess Zelda. I sat on the couch for many days during long hot summertime when my son played these games. I actually didn't watch every move. I would glance up occasionally from my reading of whatever book I was engrossed in at the time to see what the protagonist was up to, what gems he had acquired, what special weapons, clothing, receptacles, pieces of puzzles he had laid claim to (or had missed). I don't know if you know this or not, but those games have a soundtrack behind them. Different lands, places and actions have specific songs that play in the background of all the action. And so we come to one of the most beautiful gifts my son ever gave me: He found symphonic versions of those songs and burned me a CD. That's right I have a Cd of the songs of Zelda. It was such a wonderful unexpected gift that I was speechless for a few seconds when he gave it to me, complete with his nickname for me on the label. I still play it from time to time.

Now my daughter has made me many mix CDs that are fun and I love them as well. But this CD from my son was a symbol of the fact that the time on the couch meant something to him as well as me. That is precious. That is what a Mother's Day gift should be.

My daughter used to make jewelry when she was in middle school...quite a lot of it, I might add. It was strung together with that stretchy stuff and it always glittered and sparkled...she loved those beads. She and I would sit and talk while she created her masterpieces. Sometimes I got them, but most times, because she is a wonderfully warm and giving young lady, these presents would be for friends or her grandmother. This year, I received two bracelets and one necklace. I thought she had purchased them from a friend of mine who makes exquisite jewelry. But no, she had made them herself. It has been a long time between our talks on the couch, her jewelry making sessions, her adolescence when she still liked me enough to talk to me when so many of her friends no longer talked to their mothers. It was a gift so true that I was again not able to say a single thing for a few seconds. That is what Mother's Day is and should be.

My children have provided me with many afternoons of laughter, tears and hard work, but they have repaid me thousands of times over with their generosity of spirit and their ability to see life and the people who are around them in a positive way. I am amazed at their love of life and their love for each other.

So Happy Mother's Day from my two wonderful children. I miss them sometimes so much it hurts, but I'm so proud of them as adults I could just cry...and usually do.